


Like Snow, We Fall

by siennna



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Time, John POV, M/M, Resolved Sexual Tension, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 22:12:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5222831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siennna/pseuds/siennna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"There is a graceless charm to the way he kisses you. Clumsily, eagerly, with his big hands framing your face, as if he's afraid you'll dart away if he isn't there to hold you still"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Snow, We Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Q: Does Johnlock fluff ever get old? 
> 
> A: Never.

There is a graceless charm to the way he kisses you. Clumsily, eagerly, with his big hands framing your face, as if he's afraid you'll dart away if he isn't there to hold you still.

"How long?" Sherlock whispers. Everything about him is soft and tentative right now, like a flower shyly unfurling its petals to the sun. The dim lamp in the corner washes gold light over his features, lending a look of complete innocence: of beguiling purity and naked emotion. It contrasts so sharply with the aloof, uncaring image he usually presents that you can hardly believe your eyes.

You smile and brush a thumb along his cheekbone. The truth rolls off your tongue like the easiest thing in the world. "Always, you git."

…

He is a fallen angel, white as snow against the dark planes of your sheets. You run a palm tentatively down his side, over his ribs, past the juts of his hipbones, along the milky expanse of his abdomen, so slowly, so carefully, so afraid of tarnishing this precious sight with your mortal touch.

"You're beautiful," you murmur, covering his body with your own, protecting him from the storm and the cold and the unworthy air. As icy as he pretends to be, you find that he is incredibly warm; heat rolls off of his skin in waves, pulling you closer, inviting you forward, like a fireplace or an outstretched hand. "So beautiful."

Sherlock falls quiet. Wide, grey eyes peer up through dark lashes, soft and vulnerable among the sharp, commanding features of face. "I've…never done this, John."

"I know; it's okay."

You press a kiss to his chest and he closes his eyes and sighs.

You ask, "Do you still want to do this?"

And he replies, "Yes," his voice raw and desperate. His hands scrabble for purchase in your hair, on your hips, along your back. " _Please."_

…

The rest of the world has been black and white until now, you realize.

With him, you lose yourself in a blur of hungry eyes and searching hands. In this moment, you are two beings swathed in all-encompassing indigos and starry-eyed violets; bright, moonlit eyes, bitten lips, breathy cries; an exploration of glowing fingertips, eager mouths, desperate hands; pale blue promises pressed against shining brows, soft pewter kisses peppering jawbones and throats; the blush-pink hue of love, the sparkling gold luster of confessed dreams; the bright yellow, earth-shattering moment of complete and utter bliss that seems to go on and on and on, as endless and surreal as the sky.

His touch feels like every color under the sun.

…

"I love you," Sherlock whispers, the words stumbling out his mouth in his haste to speak them. "I didn't say it earlier, but I do, John. So much."

You smile. "I know."

"But, John, I don't know what to do." He wraps his arms around your back, afraid you'll flee. "I don't want to do anything wrong. I don't want to…to disappoint you. I've never done— _this_ , either. "

You nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck until he tips his chin up and allows you access to his throat. You kiss your way from his Adams apple to his bottom lip. "There is nothing—you could do—to disappoint me," you say in between kisses. "Nothing."

"But…"

"Hey," you brush the hair back from his forehead and stare down at him, and his eyes look so open and trusting that for a moment the words catch in your throat. "I love you, Sherlock. Don't you see that? I _love_ you."

He blinks and blinks, just like he did the first time you told him. When he responds, his voice is small. "You're sure?"

You smile and pull him closer, so that you are chest to chest, hearts beating in sync. "I'm sure," you murmur. "And nothing will ever convince me of otherwise."

He swallows. "So…so if I'm not good at this whole relationship thing, you'll help me? You'll explain things?"

"I will."

"You won't get mad at me?"

"Of course not."

"You—you won't leave me?"

"Never." You press a kiss to his forehead and wrap your arms even tighter around him, so he feels as safe and cherished as he truly is. "I promise I'm here to stay, love."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, everyone! Please tell me what you think in the comments, I love hearing your opinions :)


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